4
"You look better" the doctor said to me, as he helped me to sit up against the wall, cushioned somewhat by the old sacks he had gathered from the floor. I had lost all track of time having slept, as I believed, in several short bursts; and being in an underground room I had not the clues of daylight or blackness to help me guess the hour.
"I think I feel better" I said. It was not quite a lie. My two companions made light of their own not insignificant hurts and I felt it only right that I should try and do the same. I was at least feeling warmer, and the mere presence of these gentlemen did seem to raise my spirits in an unaccountable way.
"What time is it?" I asked.
The doctor reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out his time piece. He looked ill; his face was white as before, and I thought I heard him wheezing slightly as he spoke.
"It is a quarter past two" he told me.
I think I gasped.
"How can that be?" I said, in disbelief.
"Don't worry, it's quite alright. When one is injured one tends to sleep just as much as is necessary, and it can be a difficult commodity to measure" he explained.
Just as he moved to replace the watch, I reached out quickly and touched his arm. He stilled.
I do not know what I wanted to express to him, but all I managed to say was, "You should be sleeping too, doctor"
I felt so badly for him; had I not been there, he would undoubtedly be resting in this precise spot, with Mr Holmes ministering to him.
"I will sleep soon enough" he said with another smile.
"I believe it is time to leave" said Mr Holmes, closing the door gently as he came in. It was only then that I realised he had been absent while the doctor and I talked; he must have been outside.
He and Dr Watson exchanged looks and then they both looked expectantly at me.
I had known the time was approaching when we would make our escape, and goodness knows I had no wish to stay another moment in our hiding place, and yet at the same time my worries upon one point would not abate ...
"I'm afraid" I said at last.
"There is really no need. You can depend on us to keep you safe... I can assure you" replied Mr Holmes, evenly.
I felt my face burn:
"No.. I mean… I'm afraid I – when I stand… I feel – sick… I…" I stumbled over my explanation like an infant.
Then the doctor immediately put a hand on mine and said,
"I don't want you to worry about that – It's nothing, and you must trust me on this."
I remember thinking how kind he was. I have often wondered over the years how an army doctor, jaded as he must have been from witnessing war and the desperate things men do, could be so gentle, both in speech and manner, and take care of a child such as I was.
His words did little though, to reassure me, and I resigned myself to my fate, wondering whose expensive shoes I would soon ruin.
Dr Watson pulled the knot from his neck tie, and then, with one hand, slid it from beneath his collar and proceeded to knot the two ends together. This loop of silk he then hung around his own arm.
"Ready?" the doctor asked, and I nodded. I saw Mr Holmes was ready too, standing close. With a strong arm under each shoulder I was heaved upright, and at the same time someone held my bad arm preventing its movement.
The room tilted and I was its axis, if my body had not been held steady by my rescuers, I would have fallen right there. They both had some whispered words of encouragement for me then, and I must tell you, dear reader, I sorely needed them.
The doctor slipped the sling around my neck and threaded my bandaged arm through securely. My good arm was then slung around his lower back and he held my hand firmly to keep it there. His right arm endeavoured to keep me standing, by grasping the waist band of my britches in his fist.
Mr Holmes draped the overcoat across the doctor's shoulders and as I was right by his side and considerably shorter than my companion, I felt the full and welcome benefit of its warmth.
Mr Holmes, revolver in his hand, led the way from our small store room.
We were all quite the wounded soldiers: I with my broken arm and rolling eyes; Mr Holmes' scraped head and my doctor, whose ribs were at the very least fearfully bruised.
Dr Watson took most of my weight and almost immediately my head began to fall forward and I was powerless to prevent it, making a view of my own feet the only view possible.
I had no sense of where we were going, although from time to time I noticed the changing ground beneath us: slate flags; stone steps; broken glass.
My nausea was with me throughout this long walk, but somehow I gained mastery of it, and did not disgrace myself!
My mind remembers little more than that which I have already written, but a quite indelible memory is the feeling of warmth on one side of me. Being jostled and pulled this way and that and yet always there was the assurance of being in safe and competent hands.
At some point our forward motion stopped and I was able to raise my head a little.
We were outside - in the dark - it was raining - I could hear many voices calling... whistles from all sides, and feet splashing through puddles.
A wind was blowing and it revived me, at least for a short while.
"Are we out?" I asked. The words fell upon my own ears dully, as if they came from underground.
There was no answer and I felt myself being slowly lowered until I was no longer held up by the doctor, and yet I still felt the warmth.
Time expanded and I was not on a cold floor or a wet pavement, I was lying on a soft bed. I opened my eyes and saw a shadowy whitewashed ceiling; somehow I had come to be lying in our school infirmary.
I slept the remainder of that night under the watchful eye of our Matron. My arm was set with a new white splint and the large bump on the side of my head, of which I had been quite unaware, was examined and deemed more or less benign by the village doctor.
Upon waking, I at once asked about my two rescuers. I was informed that both Mr Holmes and Dr Watson were well, and that the doctor's injuries although potentially quite serious had been treated. They told me he had carried me most of the distance, with no less than two fractured bones in his chest.
I was astonished to hear this, not only because of his injuries, but also because I had no recollection of being carried. I can only assume that my condition was such that I was more unconscious than conscious, and that the doctor held me with such care that I hardly noticed.
They also told me that once I was safely passed on to others, he had commenced to all but pass out on the lawn himself. His colleague had caught him before he fell and had attended him whilst waiting for the other doctor to finish with me. That Mr Holmes had taken excellent care of his friend I was in no doubt; this gentleman was a most caring and brave fellow, qualities to which I was, after all, best placed to attest.
I did not see my two companions until the following afternoon, by which time, with the help of my father, hastily summoned from London, my addled brain had recovered enough to recall the significance of the names Holmes and Watson. My parents and I had discussed the two detectives after they were featured in the newspapers with regard to a famous case, and I was thrilled to find out that these two gentlemen were indeed my two gentlemen!
I had also remembered that the doctor, besides being a skilled physician, was a talented biographer, engaged in chronicling the exploits of his partner and himself. Those accounts would certainly be works of literature worth reading, I said to myself!
My father and I had been summoned to the gravel circle at the front of the school a little after three o'clock, where we encountered Mr Holmes and Dr Watson preparing to leave.
The three gentlemen shook hands, bowing slightly to each other. A few words were exchanged, and then I found myself walking with my two rescuers, as my father stood back, towards the waiting carriage.
Mr Holmes looked unremarkable, in that the wound he had suffered was not apparent. My doctor though, walked stiffly leaning upon a cane, and I could tell that he was still in some discomfort.
"It is most agreeable to see you so improved, Nora" said Mr Holmes, "How is your arm?"
"Very much better, thank you" I said. Then "Doctor...?" I began, but I did not say any more.
I wanted to ask if he was in pain... if he had slept... so many things. But at that moment the questions seemed too personal and I felt too foolish to ask them.
But then, as if he had heard my thoughts he said.
"I am feeling much improved, do not be concerned"
When we had reached the waiting conveyance, to my surprise and delight Mr Holmes turned to me, gave a small bow and shook my hand with the same formality he had shown my father. I returned the gesture most vigorously.
"Thank you, Mr Holmes" I said. He simply tilted his head and smiled.
"Miss Sullivan, I bid you good day" he said before he turned away and climbed into the carriage.
And then there was just the doctor and I.
He pointed to my injured arm. They had found me a dark blue silk square which, when folded and knotted, made an adequate sling.
"Dr Carr is a fine physician - do as he says" said the doctor, making his meaning very clear by a small waggle of his index finger.
"I will and... thank you for all you did" I said.
"I was most honoured to be of help" he replied.
"Will you write down our adventure?" I asked.
He considered for a moment and then regarded me with those gentle eyes.
"No" he said shortly, "I will leave that to you, Nora. I am sure you will omit nothing. Farewell"
As he said his goodbye he, too, shook my hand, and then he smiled at me and joined Mr Holmes in the hansom.
I took my father's arm and we watched as the horses stamped and shook their harnesses and then with a clatter of hooves across the cobbles they were away.
This then is my account, just as I remember it withholding nothing as far as I am aware: I hope Dr Watson would approve.
I have asked myself many times whether I would, given the means to do so, return to that portentous night; choose then to re-live it in a conventional manner. To sleep in my bed and not venture out beneath the cloud-laden sky. Forego the excitement and danger. Or would I still choose to crawl across that skylight?
I have to tell you, dear reader, I would change nothing. Not for anything would I choose for events to go otherwise. To sustain an injury... a wound... well, dear reader, it was worth a wound to spend that night as I did, in the company of those two great men of our time.
Yes, I would choose it, wholeheartedly, unreservedly... and the question, dear reader, that I leave you with?
It is simply this: Knowing now what I know...
...would you not choose it too?
The End